


Stay with me

by BooksAndDragons



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Adoption, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Mentions of Kamoshida and his abuse, References to Akira's Parents, akira's had a rough ride but it's okay because sojiro is here now, hint: they're not the best, i just live for the coffee family tbh, meant to be from a themed week but im lazy, more introsepective and reflective than story this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23988538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooksAndDragons/pseuds/BooksAndDragons
Summary: When Akira Kurusu first arrived at his doorstep, Sojiro had hated himself for being reminded of Futaba. How they carried themselves in the same way, had the same pain of rejection and neglect in their gaze- but he ignored it. He'd insisted the kid was a criminal- a no good.He ignored it all, it was his fault that the kid suffered for so many months when he first came to him. Sojiro couldn't undo his past mistakes, but he'd done his best to support Akira ever since, to slowly build the kid back up.Holding the adoption papers in his hand, Sojiro knew this wouldn't fix everything either, but it would be a step in a more hopeful direction- if Akira would accept them, that is.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira & Sakura Sojiro
Comments: 17
Kudos: 520





	Stay with me

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this fic was meant to be a part of a themed writing week, 'First Day/Last Day' but i only ever wrote two of the prompts so....ta-da! better late than ever, i guess?
> 
> no but really,,,,this fic has been collecting dust on my laptop for at least 6 months?? wow time sure flies when you're ignoring your responsibilities huh

When Sojiro Sakura had agreed to house a delinquent kid with a record for a year, he’d spent weeks thinking about what sort of shit he’d have to deal with- constantly going back and forth on his decision, wondering whether or not to refuse afterall.

He thought of Futaba, quiet and meek, so afraid of the world and damaged. He thought of the criminal delinquent- a representative of all that Futaba would fear in the world, and decided that this kid was no good, was hardly worth his time. He’d do it for the money, to give the kid some place to stay- afterall, the kid  _ had _ apparently tried to save someone, it was the only positive Sojiro could think of for him- but other than that, he couldn’t care less. 

Emotionally shut off, uncaring for the dust festering in the attic, of the space uncleared, he waited for the disturbance that would be this kid.

And then Akira Kurusu walked through his cafe doors.

And the inkling of doubt began to fester in Sojiro’s stomach.

Thin framed and hesitant behind the thick lenses of his glasses, Akira Kurusu seemed almost fearful of Sojiro. Hesitant to trust, but with no other choice if he wanted somewhere to stay. The complete opposite of the arrogant, loud-mouthed delinquent Sojiro had envisioned turning up at his doorstep.

Firmly reminding himself that looks can be deceiving, Sojiro had turned on his heel and led the kid up to the attic without a second word. He’d told himself he didn’t care about the empty look of acceptance in the kid’s eyes as he looked over the cluttered attic, the crates for a bed, the dust covering every visible surface. He turned away, and left the kid to it. Wasn’t his business.

He ignored the bangs and clatters from upstairs, the soft hiss of pain he heard at one point. He pretended not to notice that the kid didn’t come downstairs for the dinner he definitely hadn’t had, and closed the cafe, leaving the kid alone.

The same thing continued for weeks, everyday the kid would return from school late into the day (Sojiro pretended he didn’t care why the kid was back 3 hours after school ended) and wouldn’t say a word, barely meeting Sojiro’s gaze with a small greeting before dashing up to the attic, where he’d hide away for the rest of the night.

One day, the kid returned from school later than usual limping, ugly, mottled bruises standing out against his pale skin. Sojiro had been furious, warning the kid not to be fighting students and causing more trouble for him. The kid didn’t even argue, just nodded silently, taking his verbal lashing, before slinking away upstairs.

It had left Sojiro with an uncomfortable feeling of  _ wrongness _ , and an even worse sense of familiarity.

Sojiro got that a lot, everytime the kid walked through the door, everytime their eyes met. The emptiness, the withheld pain and loneliness. Everytime, he was the first to turn away, to usher the kid upstairs. He was dangerous, he was a criminal.

He did  _ not _ remind Sojiro of Futaba.

A week later, with a sick feeling in his gut after the news story about Kamoshida Suguru was revealed, the remnants of Akira’s yellowing bruises still stark on his skin, Sojiro repeated that mantra as he gave Akira his first lesson on coffee-making.

And if he had slept just that bit better that night, if he’d finally seen the kid smile, then that was his secret to keep.

* * *

Sojiro’s hands tremoured as they traced the paperwork, familiar words with the same familiar storyline to match- but everything was different now. Akira had two living parents, he had a house he could return to, a school- a whole life away from Tokyo. Sojiro wondered, not for the first time, if what he was doing was right. If it was unfair to ask this of the kid, to leave all that behind.

But Sojiro could still remember the broken kid who would slink away to his attic room, shoulders curled in as if to hide himself from the world, with nothing but the sound of light footfalls to signify he was there at all. He remembered the way that kid glanced at him, the first time Sojiro taught him to make coffee, the wariness in his gaze, the way he moved- as if afraid of doing something wrong, of being reprimanded. 

Above all, however, it was the things Sojiro  _ couldn’t _ remember.

He couldn’t remember the last time that Akira willingly sought out help, or support. He couldn’t remember Akira ever asking for  _ anything _ , as a matter of fact- not even a cup of coffee.

Sojiro couldn’t remember the last time Akira’s parents had contacted their own son, nor the last time they asked after him when Sojiro would call to give them legal updates. 

It was almost too easy to connect the dots, to draw the parallels. Sojiro had nearly lost one child to the cruelty of someone who was supposed to care for them, he couldn’t lose another. He had a duty to protect, an instinctual need towards this boy to care.

But in his darker hours, Sojiro wondered whether he truly deserved to care for Akira.

Him, who was supposed to be Akira’s guardian and ignored all the warning signs for  _ months _ , just because he couldn’t see past his own blinded views and allowed Akira to fall deeper and deeper into his habits and ways. Wasn’t it his fault, that Akira so willingly handed himself over to the police? His fault, that Akira was brutally tortured in an underground interrogation hall? If he’d intervened sooner, really tried to talk to him and get Akira the help he needed- then maybe Akira would value himself, at least enough not to blindsidedly sacrifice himself.

Then, there were the better days. When Akira would shuffle awkwardly, offer him a small smile, and ask whether they could have another coffee lesson that night. How Akira would slowly start sitting downstairs in the cafe, head in some book or assignment, as Sojiro worked. The first time Akira didn’t tense up when Sojiro put a hand on his shoulders.

It was the smaller things, the gradual progress that they’d made- that’s what mattered.

And for that, Sojiro couldn’t let Akira go back to his life before now, back to the people who called themselves his parents. He couldn’t let them kill every little piece of self worth Akira developed, every bit of progress he’d made- and he wouldn’t.

Later that night, Sojiro closed Leblanc early (his limited customers would understand, encourage him, even) and made his way upstairs- knowing he’d find Akira, curled up on the lumpy sofa, nose down in a book in some vague hope that it could distract him from everything that’s happened in the past few months.

Sojiro would make a peace offering, coffee (decaf, because the dark circles under Akira’s eyes needed no help), and sit down in the available spot on the worn red material. He’d try and bite back his tears as he talked- every word he had mentally rehearsed forgotten in the moment- assuring Akira that they could work everything out, and there was a room next to Futaba if he wanted it (and if not they  _ would _ be renovating the attic, together), Shujin was more than happy to take him back in, and-

And Akira was stone cold silent. Eyes wide, as if he couldn’t quite believe what Sojiro was saying. Slightly misty, and that wasn’t just the effect of the dim lighting.

Sojiro didn’t miss a beat.

“Akira, I promise you I’m being completely serious right now, and have I ever lied to you?” A small twitch at the lips, “I care about you, a lot, okay kid? And this is really important to not only me, but also for you. I don’t want you to make any rash decisions, but know that you’ll always have a place here, a  _ home _ \- and that’s all I want for you. But also, know that in my eyes you’re always gonna be a kid-  _ my _ kid, and that offer will always stand- no matter what.”

Hardly able to register anything past his own racing heartbeat- Sojiro still couldn’t miss the force with which Akira threw himself into his guardian’s arms, shoulders shaking. Not missing a beat, Sojiro’s arms wrapped tightly around the sobbing teen, and pulled him closer, letting a few tears of his own slip past.

The following weeks would be long and difficult, but to have Akira there everyday, safe and happy under Sojiro’s care, then it would be worth all the paperwork and family court time in the world.


End file.
